It was still very warm, even the breeze that whispered in to the bedroom, so Cat let her body air dry. She lounged naked on her bed, reading (Rose Tremain and not La Route, Les Etapes), running her fingertips along her thigh and now forsaking an imaginary part in a Jean-Jacques Beineix movie for that in a Degas pastel. She felt soothed and contented and was enjoying her own company immensely until a gentle rap at her door disrupted her peace.

Bugger, must be the patronne – I asked for an extra pillow.

‘Un instant, s’il vous plaît,’ she called, grabbing a little floral sundress and slipping it over her nakedness. Barefoot, she crossed the floorboards lightly, the lilac ribbon starting to work its way loose from the hasty pony-tail she had tied.

‘I’m coming,’ she said, her hand already opening the door.

Ben York pushed into her room, shut the door more strongly than was necessary, scooped Cat against him so tightly that she was momentarily lifted off the floor, and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth (which was so startled that it was conveniently open anyway).

Don’t let him kiss you. Don’t! Pull away. Don’t bloody kiss him back. Don’t fling your arms around his neck – take them away! Don’t drop your hold to his biceps. Why are you grabbing his shirt? Stop it! Pull back.

‘Don’t pull back,’ Ben murmured, standing still while Cat all but leaped backwards. She was speechless.

Say something!

‘Say something,’ Ben said, hands on hips and forearms distractingly on display. ‘What’s with you?’

Say something – what should I say to him?

Ben advanced towards her more quickly than she could retreat. He pushed her on to her bed and fell on top of her, his lips at her neck, his hand at her thigh. Get the dress up. His hand at the flesh of her thigh. Cat wriggled away from him though her body begged her to writhe against him.

‘Fuck off!’ she hissed. Ben looked utterly taken aback but he broke into a broad smile, reclined on her bed and raised an eyebrow at the obviously furious girl who now stood by the window unaware that her dress was enticingly transparent.

She’d know if she chances upon the state of my cock. Ah! She’s seen. She knows. But see? She doesn’t move.

‘Go,’ she said, ‘please.’

‘Why?’ he replied, not moving an inch and pulling his infuriating, gorgeous smile over his mouth and into his eyes.

‘Because you’re a wanker,’ Cat protested, clenching her fist when she observed him bite his lip to conceal his amusement.

‘Well,’ he said with consideration, ‘that must make you a cock-teasing bitch.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Cat, now flushed, and quite the picture of consternation which made Ben’s cock twitch with delight.

‘What’s with you, Catriona McCabe?’ he asked again.

‘You need to ask?’ Cat responded.

‘I need to ask,’ Ben replied, propping himself up on an elbow and anticipating Cat’s reply with genuine interest.